


I Swear the New Day's Coming

by bloodofpyke



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-18
Updated: 2012-03-18
Packaged: 2017-11-02 03:58:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/364725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bloodofpyke/pseuds/bloodofpyke
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set in the Eyrie, sometime after AFFC; written for Stephie's <a href="http://mockyrfears.livejournal.com/2421.html">GOT Kink Meme</a> under the prompt <i>resulting in Petyr's death</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	I Swear the New Day's Coming

It was cold, and the wind was whispering around her legs, but she didn’t shiver; she was of the North and this cold was nothing to her.

He was shivering though, slightly, his hands on her face, his breath in her ear as he whispered, “you’re so beautiful, just like your lady mother...” and then he was kissing her, softly, and he tasted like Arbor Gold, like a game she was sick and tired of.

She kissed him back, of course she did; she was no fool. Kissed him back hard, her hands reaching up to grip the back of his neck, her tongue darting into his mouth. He smiled into the kiss, a greedy smile, and his hands ran down the length of her body, skimming her waist, her hips, and then she was moving, fitting her body on top of his, and he moaned into her mouth, hands tightening on her.

Her eyes closed, and her head tipped back, her auburn hair--no, not auburn, not anymore, but soon, perhaps--tumbling down her back, and his mouth was pressed to her neck, to the hollow of her throat, his kisses barely leaving a mark.

She wanted to leave a mark.

Her lips found his again, and she was all teeth, all the fury of the north, and his hands fluttered around her, like he didn’t know how to deal with her, like he couldn’t handle her. And now it was her smiling into the kiss, a greedy smile, and she raked her nails down his chest, the blood pricking like rubies on his skin, and something like a gasp escaped him.

When it was over, he smiled at her, a hesitant smile this time, and murmured, “that was...different, my sweet.”

“Was it?” she answered, batting her lashes and sipping at her wine.

He didn’t answer, only looked at her. And then she put down the cup, made her way over to him and kissed him again, draping her arms around his shoulders. They swayed as they kissed, danced to the center of the room, and the wind was howling here, not whispering, but still she did not shiver. A firm shove, and he was gone, falling into the night, whatever screams he might have had snatched away by the wind.

He was not smiling.

She smiled, though, smiled as she walked back to the edge of the room, where the wind quieted back down to a whisper, and she poured herself more wine, still smiling as she sipped.

It tasted like summer, her fresh cup of wine, tasted like songs, and stories, and _home._


End file.
